


Meeting Mr. Malfoy

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Elevator Sex, F/M, Magic AU, Oral Sex, Strictly Dramione's Valentine's Day Smut Fest, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: My entry for the Strictly Dramione Valentine's Day Smut Fest.Hermione Granger is an archivist at Malfoy Magical Pharmaceuticals and she's long harbored a crush for her boss' boss...Draco Malfoy. However, given that she's only spoken to him three times, she's worried that it may all be for naught.  A helpful suggestion from an issue of Witch Weekly gives her an idea:  Polish up on introductions, learn to do them gracefully.  But when will she get the opportunity?  Thankfully a broken down lift intervenes to save the day.





	Meeting Mr. Malfoy

 

The building that housed Malfoy Magical Pharmaceuticals was twenty stories deep underground, hidden from the muggle world beneath Russell Square. Every day at 9:30 am, Hermione took the lift to the 18th level where she worked in the Potions Archives with the research team. On occasion she would leave for lunch but otherwise she took the lift back up to the street every afternoon at 5:30. Her schedule never changed.

Her life never changed.

Her scenery never changed.

Her flat was a short walk from work in a wizard owned building beside the Dickens Museum and she usually stopped at the market on the way home or had supper of a bag of crisps and a gin and tonic. She wasn’t a hermit of course, once or twice a week she would go to the pub with friends, or meet for brunch on Sunday afternoons, but for the most part her life was quiet; regimented and predictable.

And lonely.

 

The most excitement she could look forward to were the almost weekly adventures in lift malfunctions. Being a magical building, Malfoy Magical Pharmaceuticals was old and set in its ways. Some would say it was quite nearly alive and stubbornly unwilling to change with the times. The lifts went in the usual four directions but did so poorly; and slower than it might take to walk the fifteen flights of stairs. They frequently broke down, trapping employees inside for hours at a time as apparating from within the building was forbidden for security reasons. In fact, getting stuck was so common that some people had taken to hiding shrunken bottles of water and boxes of snacks behind wall panels in case of an emergency. Tiny bits of graffiti held historical records: “Toby Was Stuck for Six Hours WITH Stephen on 9.25.10”. And yet she still took the lifts every day.

Because Mr. Malfoy did too.

Lucius Malfoy’s son Draco was the head of research and development at MMP and as such he was her boss’ boss at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. Hermione had had exactly three conversations with him in her four years at the company:

 

  * Once when she was interviewed for the position and he asked her about her passion for archival work and the history of potions. She remembered how his silver grey eyes had mesmerized her, the way he leaned forward to talk to her, his elbows on his knees.
  * Then when she was at the company Christmas party her first year on the job he called her Harriet before complimenting her work on the reorganization of the children’s potions studies that had long been in disarray. She would never forget that conversation because of how he’d beamed at her, impressed with her meticulous multi-level sorting of what he called ‘his favorite part of the business’. She’d been very happy to hear it, as pediatric potions were her passion as well. “Something we have in common,” he’d said.
  * And the third time had been in the lifts. He’d called her Harriet again with a wide and friendly smile on his face, looking every bit the millionaire businessman in his black suit and black-rimmed glasses, an armful of scrolls tucked under his arm. “These things are a deathtrap, don’t you think?” He’d asked, leaning against the back wall of the lift. She’d agreed but said they were charming with their antique wood and brass fixtures, wrought iron pull chains hanging from the ceiling. “Charming deathtraps then,” he’d said. “Perhaps _that’s_ why I’m drawn to taking them every day.”



 

He’d looked at her very strangely after that last bit, getting out on the third floor, where the executive offices were housed. Hermione’s face had felt hot after their last conversation and she couldn’t help but draw up the memory of how his neck had looked with the top button of his dress shirt undone, the way his white blond hair had been a bit tousled from what she was sure was the late Autumn wind but looked very much like something else, something she couldn’t stop picturing in her mind. 

In fact, she thought about him all the time, in extremely inappropriate ways and various stages of undress. Her daydreams about him were so lascivious that she was sure others in the department could hear her thoughts and she would have to go to the toilets to splash water on her face in order to calm down. It was clear, she had a crush on her boss’ boss.

And he thought her name was Harriet.

Still, MMP was a large building employing hundreds of wizards and it had a bank of eight lifts and since their last conversation three months ago, she hadn’t had the pleasure of riding him…riding with him. Still, she tried for it…(the lift, that is) every day.

 

 

Her desk was in the far southern corner of the archives, where she worked with four other full time archivists, each with their own specialty. It was late on a Friday when Leanna perched on the edge of her desk holding a fistful of red paper and tape. 

“You haven’t decorated!” She said, sounding personally wounded.

“For what?” Hermione asked, not looking up from the dusty book she was flipping through. Pages had been torn out and damaged and she was going to have to send it for repair.

“VALENTINES DAY. Don’t tell me you forgot about the party on Tuesday night,” Leanna said, snipping a chain of red hearts from the paper and taping it to the front of Hermione’s desk. “Archives and Development are hosting it at the Broken Ash Pub. We’re going to play some match making games, a couple of those old snogging games we used to play at Hogwarts…see if we can get everyone drunk and hooked up for the night…”

“Not interested,” Hermione said, fitting the torn corner of a diagram to the rest of the page and reaching for the tape. “I already have plans.”

“Oh really, with whom?” Leanna asked.

“A friend,” she lied. “We’re going to a play.”

Leanna was silent for a minute until Hermione finally looked up to find her staring, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in thought. She nodded after a moment and hopped off the desk, scooping up her supplies.

“You’re lying. But if you don’t want to get laid on Valentine’s Day that’s your prerogative. We would like to see you though. Maybe come out after work at least for a drink?”

Hermione sighed and smiled, nodding slowly. “After work…just for a minute.”

  

The truth was she _did_ want to get laid, and not just on Valentine’s Day. She’d broken up with her only long-term boyfriend, Ron, a year ago and after a couple of months of “sowing oats” at the pubs and at parties, she’d been suffering a withering dry spell for the last six months. Half of a YEAR it had been since a man had seen her naked, since she’d felt the weight of a body on top of her, licking sweaty skin, feeling someone’s face between her legs, hearing a man groan in her ear as she ran her fingers through his silky platinum blond hair…

She blushed just thinking about it, crossing her legs tightly as she tried to get back to examining the ancient book.

As usual, she stopped at the market on the way home from work and picked up a container of soup and some rolls along with a bottle of gin and two limes. Standing in line she was drawn to the cover of Witch Weekly, bright and pink with blaring headlines:

PANSY PARKINSON ON LOVE AND LIFE WITH ASSISTANT MINISTER BLAISE ZABINI! FIVE QUIDDITCH EXERCISES THAT WILL TIGHTEN YOUR TUSH! And the last was enough to get her to pick up the magazine and slip it into her basket:

129 WAYS TO GET A HUSBAND

She wasn’t sure why it called out to her. She had no interested in _getting a husband,_ per se, but something said she needed it. Maybe it was just for the laughs. And they were plentiful. As she sat on her sofa with her second gin and tonic, reading through the list of archaic and frankly sexist suggestions, she was overcome by giggles. Reading through the obituaries to find widowers? Associate with more attractive witches and scoop up their leftovers? STAND IN THE CORNER AND CRY? They were all ridiculous. Until one stopped her laughing for some reason.

_Polish up on making introductions; learn to do them gracefully._

It occurred to her that since her interview Mr. Malfoy had never called her by her correct name. If she were going to harbor any sort of…crush on him it was all going to be for naught if he thought her name was Harriet Greenmeyer. The gin in her system strengthened her resolve and it was settled. The next time she saw him she was going to have to follow this ridiculous article’s advice. It was time to introduce herself. Gracefully.

 

 

The building cleared out as if on fire on Valentine’s Day as the office parties for MMP were legend and usually spun out of control within the first three hours. 

“Promise you’ll stop by,” Leanna said. “This place is going to be quiet as a morgue in an hour.”

Hermione smiled up at her and nodded.

“I’ll do what I can.”

  

It was after six when Hermione decided she’d head home for the night. The party would be so debauched by the time she got over there that they’d never notice she hadn’t shown up and she could lie about it if pressed. Closing up her work and packing her books into her bag, she locked up the Archives and headed to the lift bank. Leanna had been right. The corridors were empty and silent, other departments dark. The building was all but closed down. And as usual, she stepped onto the lift alone.

She was surprised when it chugged to a stop at the tenth floor and absolutely dumbfounded when Mr. Malfoy stepped on, looking particularly amazing in black trousers and a black shirt, the first two buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing off a thick silver watch and she noticed for the first time, a thick silver ring pushed past the knuckle of his left thumb. It caught her eye because it gave something of a rebellious edge to his otherwise conservative look. And it looked so good on his hand.

He had beautiful hands.

When the lift doors closed and the car lurched forward he turned to smile at her, leaning against the back wall of the lift with his arms crossed.

“Hello Harriet." 

This was her chance, the one scenario she’d planned for, the conversation she knew how to carry. She couldn’t stop looking at the tendons in his neck. 

“Actually, Mr. Malfoy, I feel like I have to re-introduce myself,” she said, holding a hand out. “My name is Hermione. Hermione Granger. I work in the Potions Archives.” 

He paused for a moment and smiled wider, not looking embarrassed or confused in the slightest. In fact the expression on his face was as if he were waiting for this conversation for days.

“Nice to meet you, Hermione. You can call me Draco, you know. I think we’re the same age.”

He shook her hand and then continued holding it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, his other hand in his pocket.

“I know,” she said, her skin like fire beneath his touch, the hair on the back of her neck prickling as goosebumps rippled down her arms. “I just…you’re my superior and I wanted to show respect…”

“Your superior, eh?” He said, laughing and rolling his eyes. Still he didn’t let go of her.

Before she could explain herself the lights went out in the lift and it came to a sudden, screeching halt. Hermione stumbled forward, Draco staggered back and she fell into him, their hands still clasped together, her cheek pressed to his warm, broad chest.

“Careful, love,” he said quietly. “Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

She stood up and pulled her hand free. The lift car was pitch black, eerily still and silent. He was no more than six inches away from her but she couldn’t see a thing, only smell his bright, woodsy cologne.

“What a night for this,” she muttered, doing her best not to bump into him again, even though he smelled delicious and his skin had been so warm. “Everyone’s already gone at the Valentine’s Party…no one to report the outage.”

“We could be stuck in here for hours,” he said…his voice a buttery purr in the darkness. “It’s almost like we’re hidden from the world.”

He said nothing more but she could feel his body standing closer to hers, the heat radiating from it. Then his hand was on her cheek, the backs of his fingers stroking her face down to her neck, his thumb pressing lightly on the hollow of her throat. She held her breath. This had to be a dream. It couldn’t be him. And then his lips were at her ear…a hoarse whisper, quiet enough that she could hear the tiny wet sounds his lips and tongue made as he spoke.

“I like this sweater you’re wearing today, Hermione. But I liked the black one you wore to your interview better. It was a little bit tighter, showing off more of your curves.” 

“I…how did you…”

He kissed her. She was backed up against the side of the lift as he pressed into her, his tongue licking over the closed seam of her lips as his hips pushed up against hers, letting her feel the hard length of his erection against her belly.

“But my favorite is when you wear that white silk shirt, so soft and sheer I can see the straps of your bra through it,” he whispered, moving to nuzzle her neck. “And the tight black pants and high heel boots. That’s my favorite. I love you in boots.”

Her knees nearly gave out at the words _I love you_ being whispered into her ear, no matter what followed. But as much as she wanted him to continue his licking and sucking of the skin behind her ear, she pushed him away, her eyes having adjusted a bit, just so she could see his own eyes glittering; the smile on his face.

“You know my clothes, what I wear every day?” She asked, catching her breath.

“I do,” he said. “And I know about your article on pediatric anesthetic potions combined with sleeping spells that was published last year,” he said, stepping back in to put one hand on her hip, the other threading through her hair, pulling it free of the pins she used to keep it from falling into her eyes. “I know that you live over in Camden, at 8 Doughty Street, and you like Gin and Tonics after work.”

“You follow me?” She asked, her mind whirling with disbelief, wariness and very overpowering want. He was leaning in closer, brushing his lips over her temple.

“Only once. The other things I know from listening to you with your friends, hearing you at meetings and walking through the halls. You caught my eye the minute you started working here. I’ve wanted you ever since I saw your passion for the work. Well, that and your amazing tits.” He buried his nose in her hair then and took a deep breath. “And that honey and lavender shampoo you use…do you get it from Marleyfoot’s?”

She nodded in the dark, melting back against the wall of the lift as he pressed into her again, his hand sneaking up beneath the hem of her jumper, warm fingers on her skin. She grabbed his wrist to stop him, looking him in the eye.

“Every time you see me, you call me Harriet. You know that isn’t my name. Why would you do it?”

He pulled back, not touching her at all then and she very nearly whined at the loss of it, the warmth of this body near hers. Crossing his arms over his chest he let out a low chuckle before pulling out his wand and saying,

“Stellarum Revelare”

The lift glowed with dim golden light, tiny sparkling dots scattered across the ceiling, just enough that she could see his face, his body, his tousled hair, the smile that went with his glittering silver eyes.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said again, mimicking his stance, trying to look serious, trying to look like maybe she was reconsidering letting him kiss her. “Why did you call me Harriet?”

“You hide who you really are around here, around me. I’ve seen you in the research department; with your mates in the archives. You’re so bold and outspoken; nothing gets past you. It’s different outside of the 18th floor. When I see you in the corridors or at meetings you barely spare me a glance, just giving a small polite smile and looking away. I figured it was one of two things…you hated me…” he said, taking a step closer, “or you wanted me as badly as I wanted you, but were too embarrassed, to nervous to admit it.”

“That still doesn’t…”

He put a finger up to her mouth, gently, pulling down slightly on her bottom lip.

“I wanted to see how long it to you to work up the nerve to be you,” he said, moving to cup her jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing over her lips. “I wanted to see how long it would take for you to stand up and correct the boss. I was waiting to meet the real you so I could tell you how often I dream of being trapped with you and banging you up against this very wall.”

For a moment they were both silent. There was something in his confident arrogance, that heated smirk with one eyebrow raised. She should have been offended, disgusted. She should have been turned off by it except that she’d imagined the exact same thing for years. Perhaps they weren’t soulmates, perhaps he did this every week with a different employee. Or maybe this was how they were destined to meet to start the rest of their lives together. Whatever it was, she wanted him. Badly.

Without a word she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a deep, wet kiss, only stopping when her lungs started to burn for air.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Hermione Granger and I’ve wanted you since the day I started working here.”

He smiled, reaching down to tug at the buckle of his belt, letting the black leather fall to the floor.

“Nice to meet you Hermione. I’m Draco Malfoy. I’ve been thinking about sneaking under your desk and eating you out while you work for years.”

Hermione let out a sigh, kissing him again as her fingers found the button of his trousers.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me help you.”

He knelt in front of her, pulling down the side zipper on her charcoal pencil skirt and sliding it over her hips. At the sight of her black lace panties and thigh high stockings he groaned, kissing each of thighs.

“Did you wear this for me?” He said, moving to slide her jumper up, revealing her stomach, kissing the skin just below her navel.

“I always come to work prepared.”

Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair, her legs spreading as he stood to kiss her again, wedging one of his thighs between them. His hands ran up over her ribs and the satiny cups of her bra and she lifted her arms so he could pull the jumper over her head, baring her to him almost completely, her hair loose and long over her shoulders.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Just as I imagined.”

“Let me see you,” she said, reaching out to unbutton the black shirt, pulling it from his unbuttoned waistband.

Beneath the lush black fabric his muscles were lean and hard, broad shoulders and a flat stomach. He shuddered out a moan as she leaned in to run her tongue over his chest, licking at the spiked and flaming stylized M tattoo over his heart while her hands pushed his trousers and underwear down over his hips. He was longer and harder than she’d imagined.

“So eager. So efficient,” he said, finding her mouth again, backing her up against the wall where she could brace herself on the handrail. “What an excellent employee. I’ll have to see that you get a bonus.”

Uninterested in any more teasing, Hermione pulled his hand to the front of her black satin panties and slipped his fingers inside, guiding him to her slick core.

“No more talking,” she said. “I’ve been waiting too long for this.”

 

Draco was honestly surprised at her aggression as he was accustomed to women waiting patiently for his instruction, worried that they’d disappoint him by asking for what they wanted. In truth, her hunger to fuck was turning him on more than anything else she’d done, but still, he wasn’t going to lose the upper hand. Grabbing her by the biceps, he spun her around so that she faced the wall.

“So sorry to have kept you waiting,” he drawled, stretching her arms to the sides and sticking them to the walls of the lift with a whispered charm.

With a quick slap on her ass he pulled the black panties down and off, throwing them over his shoulder before kneeling behind her and spreading her open, dragging his tongue down the length of her cleft, sinking deep into her warm, open pussy.

“Oh my Gods…” she cried, unable to do anything but push her hips backwards against his probing, stroking tongue as her outstretched arms kept her entire torso tight against the wall. “Oh please yes…”

He continued to lash at her as his hands held her open, his tongue occasionally sweeping down to flick at her hardened clit.

“This is what I dreamed of,” he murmured against her glistening wet lips. “I just wanted to taste this tight, pink pussy. I knew it would be heaven. You’re dripping.”

She ground back against his mouth, panting as her insides started quivering and clenching. A piece of graffiti next to her face caught her eye.

“Arthur and Alan were trapped for thirty minutes on Christmas Eve you twats!”

While it was true that they were most likely alone in the building, she didn’t have any idea how much time they had and she wanted his cock more than she wanted to breathe.

“I need your…I need you to fuck me, Draco. Please.”

He reluctantly pulled away from worshipping the silky walls of her cunt, dragging his wet lips and hot tongue down the length of her thighs before standing. Brushing her hair to the side he sucked at the pulse in her neck as the broad, blunt head of his cock pressed against her.

“What is it you want, darling?” He asked, his arms wrapped around her from behind. Pulling her heavy breasts from the cups of her bra, he twisted and tweaked her nipples until she hissed with overstimulation, actually shuddering and crying out when he finally let go and she felt the delicious ache of the blood rushing back to them. “I can’t understand you.”

“Please. God please fuck me, I don’t know when the lights are going to come back on and this will be over.”

“Oh love, don’t worry,” he said, driving into her in one hard stroke. “If the lift starts working I’ll just charm it to stop again.”

“Wait…you…” She looked over her shoulder and found him grinning ear to ear.

“Shhh, I thought you said no more talking, love.”

With one hand between her shoulder blades he thrust into her again and again at a punishing pace, each snap of his hips pushing a groan from deep in his throat that turned her on more. She strained and pulled against the charms that stuck her hands to the walls, tipping her hips back trying to meet each of his strokes. Hearing her whine in frustration, Draco released her wrists and spun her around lifting her so that her legs were wrapped around his waist, her back against the wall.

She kissed him hard on the mouth, her arms tight around him, fingernails digging into his back as he nuzzled her neck, his tongue flicking over her ear.

“Watch,” he said. “Watch me fucking into your wet cunt, love.”

He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, reaching down between them to find her clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Fuck yes, witch,” he breathed. “I can feel you pulling me in. So tight. Gods, I want to feel you come on my cock.”

His thrusts were faster, harder, his thumb massaging her hardened bud of nerves until she felt her whole body shudder, her thighs clamping tight around his hips, the breath leaving her lungs in a long drawn out whine. She bucked and writhed in his arms and he held tight, bracing her against the wall of the lift, whispering words of encouragement as her orgasm washed through her down to her toes.

Draco tried to stay inside her, to keep pistoning against her hips, but she pushed him back and fell to the floor on her knees in front of him, still floating on the endorphin rush of her climax.

“And _this_ is what I’ve dreamed of,” she said, stroking the velvet smooth shaft of his prick.

It was warm and wet with her own juices and she eagerly licked away every drop of her arousal, taking him deep into her mouth and down her throat. His breath escaped in a hiss and she felt his hands sink into her hair, guiding himself into her mouth.

“Oh fuck yes, Hermione. Suck me,” he murmured, massaging the back of her neck.

Feeling him begin to twitch and tense, his breath coming in short pants, she pulled back, wrapping her hand around him, stroking so that he could come on her chest, her neck, pearlescent drops rolling into the hollow of her throat and down between her breasts. As he stood back recovering his breath, Hermione went up on her knees and ran her fingers over her chest and neck, licking his seed from her hand, her eyes on his the whole time. He was mesmerized. Even in the low light he could see the flush on her cheeks, the glittering in her caramel brown eyes. She looked wild and alive and he already wanted her again.

Hermione stood and pressed herself against his chest, kissing him deeply, her hands in his hair, relishing the last few moments of naked skin on skin, feeling him so close. Draco took a step back and quietly scourgified the both of them, running a hand through his own hair to put it back into some sort of style. She wasn’t looking at him, her head bowed a bit as she ran her fingers over the black tattoo on his chest.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, covering her hand with his.

“Nothing…I just…I thought about this day for a long time and now that it’s over I…”

“Over?” He said, touching her chin to tip her face up. “Why would it be over? I mean, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this cursed lift, but…”

She shrugged and bent down to gather her clothes, adjusting her bra and pulling on the black knickers.

“I’m just…I’m a research assistant. I live in a one bedroom flat next door to a wizard who thinks he’s the reincarnation of Houdini. You’re Draco Malfoy…Malfoy Magical Pharmaceuticals. I mean you could have any—“

She was busy pulling her hair back into a ponytail when he grabbed her arm, stopping her, quieting her by wrapping her in his arms.

“I don’t want _any._ If I could have had anyone in the company I would have, but I’ve been thinking about you for a long time, Ms. Granger and not because I just wanted some one night, one time conquest.”

“No?” She asked, one side of her mouth curled up into a small smile.

“No. Although it was a _very_ stimulating first date, if I do say so myself,” he answered, pulling her in closer and kissing the side of her neck. “Perhaps we could get dressed and go have a drink somewhere? It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

He pulled his wand from his pocket and restored the lighting in the lift car before reaching for his clothes.

“I can’t believe you actually charmed a lift car to break down,” she said with a laugh. “Very creative.”

“Well, I’ll admit it wasn’t my idea. I actually found a ridiculous old magazine article from fifty years ago, something like a hundred ways to snare the witch of your dreams. One of the suggestions was to ‘put her in mild danger in order to be the one to rescue her’.”

“That’s horrible!” Hermione said, playfully punching him in the arm. Still, she was smiling and he liked how it looked on her usually serious face.

“It is. The whole thing was horrible and extremely outdated. But I dare say, darling, it worked perfectly.”

When they were both dressed he released the charm on the lift and it glided towards the surface, the two of them standing close together.

“Can you believe there are people who actually take those gossip rag articles seriously?” He asked, slipping an arm around her waist as the doors opened.

“I can’t,” she answered, stepping with Mr. Malfoy out onto the street.


End file.
